Where the River Runs Dry
by breakmyface
Summary: It is the middle of the civil war. Alfred runs away from the battle, in need of help. He meets Sachoia, a young Sioux Indian girl, and the future Native America in the league of Countries. She takes him into her village, but when England finds out, he drops in on the village, who wonder if they had made a mistake... (Hinted Canon/OC and CAN/US)


The sound of gunfire rang in Alfred's ears as he ran through the forest, his uniform torn to shreds as it hung off of his shoulders. His breaths came out in short puffs, as he pushed himself to run and run and run...His foot caught on what he thought was a root and a searing pain exploded in his shoulder.

He fell the ground, letting out a shrill cry in pain as he clutched his arm, rolling around on the grass in agony. The blood stung as it rolled over his skin. When his vision cleared, he saw that what had caused him such agony was an arrow, and said arrow was stuck in the trunk of a sicamore tree, bleeding sap.

It was only a nick, but boy, did it sting. He heard the clopping of a horse's hooves and rolled over onto his front, still holding his shoulder as he climbed to his feet.

"England..." He growled out through dry, chapped lips. He had no idea where Artie had gotten arrows, or why he had them, but he had no doubt in his mind that this was England's doing. (Sore loser, he is.)

There was a hiss as something whizzed past his ear. He growled and reached for his musket, only to find that it wasn't there. He must've dropped it back on the battlefield. He muttered a curse and grabbed one of the arrows, taking a deep breath before charging for the bushes, yelling a battle cry.

A horse whinnied and it made itself known, emerging from the bushes and rearing back, a loud cry escaping its snout. The rider was thrown off the back, and Alfred took this chance to pin him down, holding the arrow above his head.

And it most definitely was not Arthur. It was a woman with tanned skin and long black hair. Bird feathers were braided into her long tendrils, and she wore a dress made of animal skin, with bracelets and necklaces of beads. Her face was painted, two red stripes, one on top of the other, on each of her cheeks. Two blue lines, horizontal to each other, but vertical in position, on her forehead and on her chin. She had three jagged scars along her shoulder, old scars. Her face was serene and graceful, like a mother. The worry lines and bared teeth made her look a lot older then she really was.

The woman was shocked for a minute, and growled out a curse, flipping him over so she straddled his waist. She pulled out a dagger with a blade made of carved animal bone, tied with a copper cord to a wooden handle, and held it above her head.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Alfred cried, wriggling around underneath her. "Don't kill me! I'm peaceful!" He shook his arm out from underneath her, making her raise the dagger higher and mutter something under her breath, something like a warning. He pulled out a shiny pocket watch, holding it up. "Trade."

The woman looked at the watch, and back at his face, and sheathed her dagger and took the watch. She examined it slowly, and as she was distracted, he tried to wriggle out from underneath her. She looked at him and hissed, reaching for her dagger again. He stopped moving, holding his hands in surrender. She looked back at the watch and shrieked when the lid popped up, showing the clock within. She stared at it, watching the second hand tick by. She blinked and picked it up again, closing it and reopening it. A smile crossed her face and she stood up, putting it in her pouch.

She looked at him intently, with two steely green eyes. He rose to his feet, hands up in surrender. "Me - Alfred. Me come from great battle... lots blood... lots fight." He made motions with his hands, gesturing to himself, walking his fingers across the air, making a stabbing motion, balling his fists in the air, etc, etc...

"Me win battle. Me champion. But me hurt." Alfred made a sad face and doubled over. "Me great warrior. So take me to you village." He pointed to her, and she made a sound of distaste. She pointed to him.

"Great warrior, I cannot fulfill your wishes. My village would spill your blood for their battle scars." She referred to the stripes on her face.

"So you speak English?" Alfred said, blinking.

"Many moons ago, white man like you comes to village. He teaches the people the language of the white man. But then he burns us. So we kill white man." The woman made a slicing motion across her neck.

"...Oh." Alfred scratched his neck.

"But great champion, you are wounded. The Great Spirit brought you to me for a reason. So I will take you to my village." The woman jumped on her horse, which was black with a brown mane, and a scar along its flank. Alfred got the feeling they'd gotten their scars from the same thing. He hopped on after her, holding onto her waist, and she rode the horse east, along the river.

-

Near a groove in the river, there sat a village. A tribe of Sioux Indians stayed here, a peaceful bunch who believed in animism among other things. The chief, Fala, sat outside her hut, waiting for her granddaughter to return from hunting. Her grandson, Poca, sat beside her, sharpening a dagger. He had four feathers braided into his hair, and a pair of antlers on his belt. She was so proud of him.

Finally, her granddaughter's horse, Aio, came into view. She saw her granddaughter riding in, and someone sat behind her. Poca reacted before Fala could.

"Grandmother! Sachoia(1) killed a whiteman!" Poca said loudly, standing up. Fala's old eyes widened and she grabbed her staff, climbing to her feet slowly. Sachoia rode over to the two, and got down, and they realized that the man was alive.

"Grandmother, you must help this man. He's a great warrior. Just left great battle." Poca and a few other tribal men had their daggers and bows out, whooping and hollering.

Fala studied the white man, who had his hands in the air in surrender. Fala rose her own hand, and everyone lowered their weapons. By now, Sachoia and Poca's mother, Noiya, had come out, holding Poca back by the shoulders.

The chief came forward, taking the white man's hand and taking out her dagger, cutting into his hand. She rose his hand for everyone to see.

"He bleeds red." She cut into her own hand, raising it as well.

"We bleed red." Everyone looked at each other, shuffling nervously. "He stays." The other chiefs didn't protest, as Fala was the oldest and the wisest. When she made a decision, she was probably right. "Tell us your name, little warrior." Said Fala.

"Alfred, ma'am, Alfred Jones." There was a murmur of comment among the tribe. Fala rose her hand again, and silence filled the air. "Grandson." Poca sat up straight. "Take Alfred Jones to Sachoia's hut. He shall stay there."

Tokaw, Sachoia's friend of three years, straightened up immediately at that. The tribe dispersed, and Sachoia followed Poca and Alfred to the hut. "That was my grand mama...She's the chief of this tribe."

Alfred scratched his neck, his cheeks red. "Heh, well, she seems kind." He looked down at the gash on his hand.

"I'll heal that." Said Poca. "I can do that." He looked up at Alfred, a small smile on his face. "I'm good at that."

"Thank you." Alfred said, smiling back.

Sachoia peeled back the bear skin that was her door, and saw Tokaw sitting on her sleeping palette, sharpening an arrowhead.

"Oh, uh, nice to meet you-" Alfred began.

"Don't speak to me, white man." Tokaw said, standing up and hissing.

"Tokaw." Sachoia grabbed her friend's wrist. "The Great Spirit put him at my feet for a reason. Be kind."

Tokaw looked at Alfred with disgust, and ripped his wrist away.

"Watch your step, white man. If you trip or fall behind, I cut off your skin and wear it for my shoes." He shoved past Alfred and walked outside. Sachoia sighed and grabbed a deer skin, smearing the underside of it with a green paste. She handed it to Poca, who began wrapping Alfred's wound.

"Please ignore Tokaw. He's...he's not very lenient to new friends. My mother, Noiya, says that he is the strongest of the tribe, but Fala disagrees. She says the spirits of balance do not approve, and Tokaw has been cruel ever since." Sachoia said softly, sitting down on her palette, and grabbing a string of blue and green beads that looked unfinished and began to string them together as Poca tugged Alfred over to his cot.

"You can sleep in my cot. It's the most comfortable, because I made it from straw and rabbit skin. I killed two of those rabbits, but Sachoia got the rest. Sachoia's my sister, you know. She's a really good hunter." Poca continued talking, spouting out every thought that crossed his mind. He couldn't have been older then seven, with a pair of deerskin pants and moccasins, and black hair that wasn't quite long enough to braid. He had four feathers in his short hair, and a pair of small, stubby antlers strapped to his belt. Alfred smiled. He reminded him of himself.

-

Noiya ran inside after Fala, holding a hollowed pumpkin full of dried corn. She put it down next to a burning candle, looking at her mother with worried eyes.

"Mama, what are you thinking? Bringing a white man into our village? He could kill us all..." She said. Fala held up a wrinkled hand.

"Calm, my child. The Great Spirit brought him here for a reason, and he shows no threat." Fala said as she wrapped her wound in rabbit skin. Noiya sighed, pinching her nose.

"You sound just like Sachoia."

"Good thing. Sachoia has a good head on her shoulders. She knows the ways of the tribe and she knows the ways of the world." Fala looked at her daughter with a serious look on her face.

"But, mama!"

"This discussion is over." Fala turned to a flute made of oxen bone, and began to play.

"Mama..."

Fala ignored her daughter, continuing to play with the candlelight reflecting off of her coppery skin. Noiya sighed and gathered up her pumpkin, walking out to see her daughters. On her way, Tokaw stopped her, an angry look on his face.

"What did she say?" He asked. Noiya sighed, fingering a string of beads about her neck.

"She just told me that the Great Spirit brought him here for a reason."

"That's what Sachoia said."

"And that is what I said." She sighed again, furrowing her eyebrows. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do but wait until he proves her wrong himself." Tokaw put a hand on his tomahawk.

"And I will make sure he proves her wrong soon. Tonight is the annual coming of age ceremony, and Sachoia will recieve her name. I do not want him tainting our bloodline."


End file.
